


Tango for the Criminally Insane

by frogo



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: But with tango, Crack Treated Seriously, I would like to introduce sarcastically named spanish socialites to the character tags, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Sorry Not Sorry, Tango, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, hop on the train, this is just crack with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogo/pseuds/frogo
Summary: This was agiftfor Hannibal. And in return for his generosity, his geniality, hissanity, the fucker had gone behind his back.Hannibal and Will have intense feelings, and the only way to move on from them according to Hannibal?Tango.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Tango for the Criminally Insane

**Author's Note:**

> I personally believe, we, as a fandom, have failed to utilize the weirdest trope ever - angry dancing to intense tango. 
> 
> Specifically, [this](https://youtu.be/E-RO_Q3NkD8) scene from Mr. and Mrs. Smith is a perfect example. 
> 
> Oh, the [music](https://open.spotify.com/track/5VGu1LgWopNFWUG5LXInwg?si=85TBj3AuSqG3hRZPoIUSrw&context=spotify%3Atrack%3A5VGu1LgWopNFWUG5LXInwg) that inspired this fic is also from that same scene in Mr. and Mrs. Smith too? Huh.....weird. N E ways.....
> 
> Enjoy ♡

No amount of outdoor lights and fans could mask the hot, humid air of the Cuban summer nights; it was damn near suffocating. But it was not nearly as heated as the glare Will has trained at his 'husband'. His fury was bubbling over, barely held in check, glazing his eyes and rougeing his cheeks. 

Hannibal feigns ignorance, chatting amiably with his socialite acquaintances he’d managed to make in the three months since they’d settled in. Though, his crisp grip on Will's hand that rests in the crook of his arm speaks otherwise. 

Will is absolutely furious.

Especially since he’d had to have found out about Hannibal’s betrayal when they’d been having a nice outing. 

( _In front of a goddamn_ live band _for chrissakes._ )

This was a _gift_ for him, he’d decided on something nice for Hannibal’s birthday, besides a corpse. An amiable socialite gathering, on an outside veranda. An insufferable party Hannibal had received an invitation to, and later discarded when he learned of how large the guest list was, knowing Will would have hated it.

And in return for his generosity, his geniality, his- _sanity_ , the fucker had gone behind his back. 

Will gulps down two more fingers of whiskey, and moves to dislodge himself from Hannibal to drift over to the outdoor bar for more. Hannibal clamps his forearm and bicep together, earning him couch privileges and effectively trapping Will's hand in place.

He whips around to confront him, and instead is met by soft Spanish and an introduction to Señor he-couldn’t-give-a-shit and Señora she’s-eyeing-Hannibal-like-he’s-a-piece-of-meat. 

He turns his perfected indifferent gaze on both of them, and their genial smiles shrink some. Satisfied at this, he moves to turn his heavy lidded gaze to Hannibal and announces, in English, that he’s going to get more whiskey. 

Hannibal’s eye twitches minutely at his blatant rudeness, but Will is already gone before he could object, leaving him to apologize and make pleasantries in his absence. Will stalks to the bar, and buys another full tumbler of cheap shit for good measure. 

Hannibal’s nose could go fuck itself with its ‘refined’ palette, for all he cares. 

He’s about four more fingers deep and three trumpet induced headaches later, when the band switched out their tourist tailored soundtrack for a smoother, slower brand, with crooning horns and deep bass. 

He breathes a sigh of relief only to tense once more when the bane of at least half of his migraines approaches him. He could sense him before he even saw him, some sort of metaphorical bullshit connection between them just presenting as an intangible mark on the other. 

Will bristles, right before Hannibal’s shoulder brushes by his as he leans forward to order some pretentious wine sample in smooth, rumbling Spanish. 

“I am sorry, you know.” He offers after the silence had stretched too long, and it became apparent that he would have to initiate this confrontation. 

"Oh, sure, just like you were sorry about my enceph-" Will begins venomously.

“Will.” Hannibal cuts him off, with a deliberate nod to their surroundings.

“Oh, no, _you’re_ right. It’s improper to discuss personal matters in a public space.” Will's voice raises in indignation the longer he talks, getting angrier. A few of the patrons near them either backed away or tried to subtly get an earful of the live soap opera. 

“Will, I had no intention of-“ 

“Having me find out you’re planning on adopting a cat from your motherfucking social circle?” 

Hannibal sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an uncharacteristically human gesture. 

“No, no, you’re right, much too personal to discuss in public.” Will is so close to throwing his drink at Hannibal’s face just for the pure pleasure of it. And to see the drenched-cat face he knew Hannibal would pull. He estimated that at least three of the women at the bar would either commend him or offer their own drinks to the toss in camaraderie of surviving their  
own lying partners. 

A fucking _cat_.

Will tsks, downing the last of his drink in one long pull. And in the time he briefly debates publicly laying into Hannibal, or just the satisfaction of ripping him a new one when he gets home, Hannibal somehow comes to the conclusion that he’d be able to touch Will without getting his arm cut off. 

Before he can even so much as burn two eye-shaped holes through Hannibal’s face with sheer will, his hand is grabbed and he’s being practically dragged to the dance floor. He stumbles and almost trips over his feet, regaining some semblance of balance when he’s stopped moving. 

Hannibal looks at him intensely, and Will feels his own gaze flare back, slightly tipsy and annoyed at how he has to tip his head back just slightly to look him in the eyes. And before he knows it, Hannibal has a hand spread wide at his waist and is gripping his hand in a vice. Will instinctively laces their fingers together, before remembering he’s livid, and shifts his fingers while squeezing to grind their bones together painfully. 

That animalistic red spark in Hannibal’s eyes lights up, usually reserved for future meals and to forebode apocalyptic fights (or just wild sex). Something deep and black in Will's belly rears up in challenge, satisfied at the response he’d drawn out. He narrows his eyes, and tips his chin down ever so slightly to hood them and create deeper shadows. 

He was being deliberately provocative now, and they both knew it. 

(That didn’t mean it didn’t work, though.)

They had previously been swaying idly to the last song, but go stock still when it ends with the audience applauding the performance of the band and the other party goers' off-beat fumblings. 

A newer, more sensual piece starts. It’s a more modern tango, with sharp beats and a melodic guitar that challenges the quick staccato. 

It’s tense. 

And they began to move. Wide, sweeping steps. Hannibal was leading, and Will follows, loose limbed and mostly compliant to outside eyes. Between them, however, Hannibal’s aching collarbone and nearly crushed fingers told a different story. 

Hannibal spins him harshly with little lead up, and with no hand on his hips or shoulders to guide him. Will can see him realize his mistake as he twirls back into Hannibal, because now there would be no way in hell he’d let his hands get back around his waist. 

With the new edge in their confrontation, they move quicker, steps shorter, almost as if they were rushing through them to get to the other. They both unconsciously pull the other closer to compound their speed, and maintain the dexterity to which they can continue. 

Their faces are so close now, Will's mind idles from feature to feature until he’s no longer measuring how annoyed Hannibal must be and instead drifts to admiring the jut of his lip and the gray streaks in the beard he’d recently grown out. 

A crucial mistake, leading to another switch in their roles. Will curses when he’s been spinned again, this time with a guiding hand on his waist. He’s pulled back faster, and a little woozier than he had been the first time Hannibal tried the stunt. 

He refuses to lose his wits or his balance, determined to take control once more before the song ends. They both know they’re not staying here for any longer than the one song. 

The song mellows for a second, dropping in beat to accommodate a short melody, and Hannibal takes this chance to snatch Will's knee and dip him. Their hips press together, and their eyes lock for a moment. 

Will feels like either time has frozen or they’ve just idled in the same pose for long enough that the band has moved on and they look like they’re a couple minutes away from getting a charge for public indecency. 

Then, suddenly, it’s like someone pressed pause on his life and then fast forwarded twenty lightyears. Before Will can regain any of his mental facilities, he’s upright, and his arm is around Hannibal’s neck, with his partner mirroring him. Both their opposite hands are at the others' waists. 

It should be awkward, and it was a little bit, at first. Before the tension bled from Will and Hannibal let his arms smooth down in a more languid hold. A total of perhaps thirty seconds pass before Hannibal’s mastered their new technique and performs it better than Will. But to Will, it all passes in a blurry blink of an eye. 

Their individual tempo picks up once more to match the band, and they are once more swirling and skidding across the old stones of the outdoor plaza. 

Will barely noticed that the music was drawing to a close, only when the thrumming bass slowed did he realize he was keeping to the beat that pounded at Hannibal’s carotid. 

Hannibal guides them both to the center of the now empty dance floor where he twirls Will and lets the momentum of the twist in his arm spin himself. When he faces Will once more, fully, and he invades his space to wrap his arms around his partner possessively. 

Their noses brush, faces tilted subconsciously, and eyelids lowered. They were just a hairs breadth away from devouring each other, and Will leans up on the balls of his feet to close the distance - when the surrounding crowd erupted into cheers and raucous applause. 

Startling out of their enchantment, Will whips his head around, instinctively searching for the cause. Hannibal loosens his hold and smiles like a preening predator at the attentions of the mass. Will blushes furiously when he realizes for himself just what their focusing on. 

Hannibal waves genially, and Will has to restrain himself from burying himself face into the nearest surface and never coming out. Mainly because the nearest hard surface was Hannibal’s chest. 

Will bows awkwardly, unsure of the etiquette regarding subjects of borderline voyeurism. Embarrassed, and still struggling with just exactly _what_ he was feeling right then, he grabs Hannibal’s hand and practically drags them away. 

They shove through the gathered crowd, deflecting and maneuvering through shouts of _’¡Qué intenso!’_ and _’Impresionante actuación’,_ and even _‘¡Enseña a mi marido a bailar así!’_. They part for the two of them with some pats on their backs or efforts to snatch them away. 

Will doesn’t slow until they’re far away from the plaza, and the loud cheers and music has faded far away. Hannibal digs in his heels to get him to slow, but he’s not having it, still desperate to get away with the same intensity he’d started with. 

Hannibal tugs hard on his arm when he doesn’t let up. Will swings around, unprepared for how much force Hannibal put behind it. 

They’re facing each other again, and they’re on the boardwalk, he realizes distractedly. The shine of the warm lights coming from the city hub light the left side of Hannibal’s face, strongly contrasting the gentle sheen of moonlight that barley survives said lights to caress his cheekbones. Will thinks he’s beautiful, in this moment, and the acknowledgement rips through his chest and tears at his skin like dried blood. 

“I am sorry, about the whole ordeal. I didn’t intend for you to-“ 

“Oh shut up, you ass.” 

Will surges forward and smashes their mouths together; it’s messy and uncoordinated, and definitely ranking number one for the worst kisses he’s ever had. 

It was a terrible kiss, shared by two terrible men. And Will thought that was perfectly appropriate. 

They weren’t getting a cat, though. 

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? lemme know!
> 
> As always, beta’d by the ever incredible [Bismuth!](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/bismuthhhhhhhhh/pseuds/bismuthhhhhhhhh) Go show them some love, they’ve got great things coming up! 
> 
> Your comments ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at an oddly charged tango while sipping martinis. Your kudos debate whether or not to write Will and Hannibal up for public indecency. 
> 
> P.S., I don’t hate cats! sorry for all the cat hate coming from Will lol


End file.
